


Come in from the Cold

by LeMousquetaireFemme (missdarcy)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, I Don't Even Know, I promise!, Kinda, M/M, Mild Language, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Body Experiences, Slow Updates, Steve Feels, Steve Needs a Hug, World War II, ghost - Freeform, sorry for that, sort of, split personality, will eventually be finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:11:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdarcy/pseuds/LeMousquetaireFemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is almost over. It is imperative that Project Winter Soldier gets off the ground as quickly as possible. So, when Bucky falls off the train, Hydra wipe him immediately. What they don't count on is their Asgardian technology taking pity on Bucky Barnes... </p><p>They end up with a blank canvas; the perfect asset. Meanwhile, Bucky Barnes has been forced out of his body, and opens his eyes in a bombed out London bar. </p><p>**</p><p>In short: Bucky falls victim to a 70 year out of body experience and spends all of it next to Steve as a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing even remotely related to Marvel. I'm just playing with their toys!
> 
> I'd also like to point out that there will inevitably be gaps in the canon timeline, or things I've got wrong, in which case I would like to ask you please to just suspend your disbelief and pretend that they're actually all correct :)

It all starts in Italy.

Italy is colder than people say it is.

Then most of the 107th get captured – it is chaos. There is no obvious Nazi insignia on any of their captor’s uniforms. They find themselves in a situation that no one knows how to deal with. The not-Nazis march them north, into Austria. Snow is falling, and the desolate factory where they are being held is in the middle of nowhere. The factory is cold. The men in their cages are shivering, huddling together and rubbing their hands to try and create some heat.

There is little hope, if any, of rescue.

Periodically, men are taken away for strange experiments using technology that looks like it is from another planet. Screams echo down empty hallways.

Some of these men used to work in factories. This is not a factory, not really. This is hell.

* * *

Sergeant Barnes of the 107th is strapped to a metal table. That’s cold, too. He can feel the chill seeping into his bones.

He drifts. Drifting is nice, because in the safety of his own mind, Steve is there. Steve is usually cold. He rubs icy feet along Bucky’s legs in the middle of the night and steals all the covers. But he has a heart of gold, and it belongs to Bucky, a thought that is sappy as hell, but never fails to warm Bucky up, even on the coldest nights in Brooklyn.

If he is going to die on this table, he’s glad his last thoughts will be of Steve.

Except then, hands – warm – are pulling, snapping the leather that holds him down, and he opens his eyes, blearily, and –

_Steve._

Except not. The eyes are right, Steve has beautiful eyes, blue and cheeky and determined, but this man is built like an ox, and throwing off body heat like a furnace. Those things do not apply to Steve.

“I thought you were dead!” says not-Steve, pulling him up from the table and hauling Bucky towards the stairs.

Wait, no, that’s definitely Steve. It’s Steve’s smell and Steve’s voice and – hell, Bucky’s known Steve practically his whole life, and he's been in love with Steve since they were 13 and Steve nearly died from pneumonia for the second time that year. He’d recognise Steve’s touch anywhere. There’s a lot more manpower behind it now, but Steve still manages to be gentle. A gentle giant.

Speaking of…

“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky forces out, hoarse and bewildered. “What happened to you?”

“I joined the army!” says Steve, like that answers everything.

Bucky snorts. It’s such a Steve answer. For him, that probably _does_ answer everything.

“Did it hurt?” he interrogates further.

“A little” – that means a lot, in Steve speak, in which Bucky prides himself in being fluent.

“Is it permanent?”

“So far!” – whatever it is, it’s untested, then.

Bucky sucks in a breath, but decides not to delve any further just yet. Much as he wants to, now’s not the time to be having the conversation that this revelation requires, because they’re running, trying to escape the fire that’s broken out on the factory floor. Steve stops to have a chat with Schmidt. Bucky takes a second to get his breath back, but when he looks up again Schmidt is removing his face, underneath nothing but a bright red skull.

Again, it’s really not the moment to ask - but he has to check that Steve hasn’t got a freaky red skull either. (He doesn’t, thank god).

The only way out is to slowly make it over a narrow metal beam that’s barely attached to the platform on either side of the building. It can only hold one person at a time. Bucky turns to make Steve cross over first, but as he does so, Steve forces him over the rail and makes the decision for him. He has no choice but to move.

The metal bar collapses just as Bucky makes it to the other side, and he still has to take a flying leap to make it over the rail in time. He looks back – Steve looks stricken. They’ve made it this far, there has to be _something -_

“There’s gotta be a rope or something!”

“Just go! Get outta here!”

Steve’s an idiot if he thinks that will work. If they’re going to die today, they’re goddamn well going to die together.

“NO! NOT WITHOUT YOU!” He doesn’t think he’s said yelled anything more passionately in his entire life, but he’s not even sure if Steve heard it over the roar of the flames. He can taste the bile building up in his throat. Then Steve backs up, takes a few steps, and oh god, he’s taking a run up, oh god –

Steve should never have been able to make that jump.

But he does, and he crash lands on the metal, knocking Bucky to the floor and presses their lips together, whispering ‘I’m alive, oh god we’re alive, I love you’ like a litany in his ear.

Bucky wants to return the sentiment. But there’s no time. He kisses Steve back, hot and fierce, and then hauls to his feet, and they’re off, running before the whole building explodes from underneath them.

* * *

Bucky dwells on this the whole march back to camp, stealing glances at the love of his life, who is suddenly tall and muscled and healthy. It’s jarring.

Bucky is happy to be alive, of course he is. He’s particularly happy that he no longer has to be terrified that Steve is going to die every time his lungs start to rattle with another asthma attack. And he’s proud of Steve, disgustingly proud, _of course he is,_ but Steve is supposed to be safe, i.e. not on the front line, and therefore he has some questions that need answering.

But this isn’t Brooklyn, this is the army. Here, he can’t just go around demanding said answers. Which is why it’s lucky he’s also exceptionally good at disguising sarcasm.

“Let’s hear it for Captain America!” he cries, when they eventually trudge into base, and he means it, but there's something else lying underneath, and  _oh dear,_ Steve knows that tone. That tone means that Bucky is _not_ happy. Bucky has also always been a slippery bastard, which is why Steve is completely _not_ surprised when he steals into Steve’s tent later on, and raises an eyebrow in question.

Of course, the whole story comes out, then, about meeting Dr Erskine at the expo, and about stumbling through basic (carefully not mentioning the incident with the dummy grenade) and about the serum, and the bedlam that followed. He talks about the stupid shows he had to do, and how he found out that Bucky’s unit had gone MIA, and – well, Bucky pretty much knows the rest.

And Bucky knows Steve better than anyone else in the world, so he sits back and he listens and he processes. He steals a look inside Steve’s sketchbook (he’s the only person who is allowed) and he sees the sketch of the dancing monkey. His stomach dips unpleasantly.

He’s not sure how to feel about any of this. Steve is the same and yet not, and Bucky cannot think of a way to describe how he’s feeling other than confused. He gets up and starts to pace, which is a good job too, because it means that there is nothing suspicious about their positions when Colonel Phillips' aide comes in and summons Steve for a briefing.

Bucky snaps a salute, and ignoring the vaguely pleading look on Steve’s face, goes back to his own tent with a promise to meet in the bar later that evening.

He paces for hours, mulling over everything, and eventually, he comes to the conclusion that what he’s feeling is happy and sad all at once. Happy for Steve, that he’s finally feeling useful, able to represent his country and finally free of the health problems that have plagued them both for years. He’s sad because Steve has been unhappy nonetheless (and really, who would blame him. They gave him a super soldier serum and then sent him out to dance in blue tights? What a waste of taxes).

He’s sad because he’s only spent a few hours with Steve since it happened, most of it in public, there’s a tiny part of his brain that worries about whether this man is still really his Steve or if Captain America is all that’s left.

But then Steve comes into his tent an hour before they head to the bar to ask his opinion about the men in his unit. Steve, for all his new muscles, is still insecure. He worries that the men Bucky has suggested won’t want to join the new unit. (They do)

“See?” he says, “Told you! They’re all idiots.”

“How ‘bout you?” asks Steve, and Bucky just knows that if he were anyone else, he’d have missed the trepidation lurking in Steve’s voice “You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

Bucky snorts. Captain America is such a dumb name, and Steve says it in such a ridiculous way. But he downs his drink, and (to make Steve sweat a little), says:

“Hell no.” The pause after this is not very long, because whatever happens, Bucky loves this man with his whole heart and is not and never has been immune to Steve’s ‘kicked puppy’ eyes. “Little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight… I’m following him.”

The little sigh of relief that Steve lets out following this statement is tragic, really, and it just confirms Bucky's growing suspicions. Steve has obviously been worrying that no one would remember that behind the shield and the ridiculous costume is a little runt from Brooklyn. Like Bucky could ever see anyone else. In fact, the longer he looks at Steve, the more he realises that the serum has changed only the physical. Steve is still all Steve. Insecure and kind of a dumbass, at times.

“You’re keeping the outfit, right?” he teases, suddenly feeling more on even ground. This is all going to take some adjusting, but he'll get there, he realises. 

“You know what, it’s kinda grown on me” Steve smirks, and its deliciously familiar. 

All of a sudden, the singing dies out in the lounge behind them. They lean back – simultaneously, he notices – to look for the cause of the disturbance, and Bucky lays eyes on Agent Peggy Carter for the first time.

“Captain,” she says briskly.

“Agent Carter,” returns Steve.

“Ma’am.” Bucky is curt. He is not blind. This woman is a looker, and she’s got real spirit. She’s also looking at Steve covetously and wham! - the green monster raises its ugly head. He shouldn’t be jealous – Steve has never shown an interest in women other than to keep up their cover back in New York, and even then he’s terrible at it - but it’s been a long time since he’s had any alone time with Steve... If Steve were his girl, he’d have draped an arm all over him by now, making sure that everyone knows Steve is _his._ But Steve is not a girl.

And _no one_ can know they’re together.

“Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?” Peggy’s eyes are fixed on Steve’s.

“Sounds good.” Tone: Professional. Good.

Steve’s eyes roam over Peggy and Bucky looks at Steve sharper than he intended. Peggy looks at Bucky and _Jesus, Mary and Joseph_ – if that isn’t understanding suddenly dawning in the woman’s eyes then he’ll cut his left arm off.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” she says suddenly, lips curling at the edges. She’s poking them with a stick, trying to get enough information to make a conclusion.

Bucky decides that in any other circumstances, he’d probably quite like her.

“You don’t like music?” he butts in.

“I do, actually. I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.”

She doesn’t look away from Steve as she says this. Steve, whose eyes shift nervously to Bucky, whose hand clenches into a fist. It’s taking all his energy not to grip Steve’s arm like a pathetic needy thing, and he hates himself for it. He’s _never_ been needy _._ But the experience in the factory, and the changes in Steve have thrown him off balance, and he’s suddenly got an image of Agent Carter in a pretty white dress, and then a picture of her and Steve in a nice house in suburbia, with a white fence and 4 blue eyed children.

“Well what are you waiting for?” he says, stiffly.

“The right partner.” she replies, still looking at Steve, who can’t help it – his eyes flick towards Bucky again. And then just as suddenly as she came in, the charm switches off and she sashays towards the door. “0800, captain.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be there.” replies Steve, face stoic. Bucky forcibly reels in the jealousy and sighs, thankful for a clearly narrow escape. He loves Steve, and he knows Steve loves him, and just because Steve is taller and (even more) handsome now, doesn’t mean Steve is going to go off gallivanting. He’s never been like that anyway.

Then he notices that Peggy has stopped in the doorway, and is looking at the pair of them with interest. Bucky realises ashamedly that the look on his face is almost fawning, and his mouth goes dry. If she decides to report them now, that will be the end of life as they know it.

By the look that has suddenly crept onto Steve’s face, no doubt having replayed the entire exchange in his head, he has just realised the same thing.

She walks back to them, and leans in, one eyebrow raised.

“I shan’t tell anyone, boys. But do be more subtle, won’t you?”

She leaves, and Bucky turns back towards the bar to order more drinks for the pair of them.

“I’m invisible! I’m turning into you; it’s like some horrible dream,” he says, shakily.  

Steve claps him on the shoulder, visibly trying to regain his own composure, and squeezes reassuringly before he lets go.

“Don’t take it so hard. Maybe she’s got a friend.”

Bucky laughs. Steve still banters, and he's still an idiot. But then, so is Bucky.

By the end of the evening, he’s sure. Skinny Steve Rogers – _his_ Steve Rogers – still lurks underneath the uniform, and that makes it okay.

He wonders how he ever doubted it.

“You’re an idiot,” huffs out Bucky, later on, when they’ve double checked that they’re in private and Bucky finally gets the chance to kiss Steve properly. “You’re an idiot, but I get it.” And he runs a fond finger over Steve's nose, still crooked from that time Bucky set it - badly - under the dodgy lights in their shoebox apartment back home. 

“Jerk.” Steve exhales, giving Bucky’s knee a squeeze. _I love you._

“Punk.” _I love you too._

* * *

Bucky, Steve and the Howling Commandos sweep through Europe like a tornado, destroying HYDRA base after base. 

Eventually, there are only one or two objectives left.

Intel puts Dr Zola’s train as heading through the mountain pass at 0930 hours.The commandos hole up in their tents, their weight holding everything down when the ground is too rocky to drive the pegs in.

Bucky crawls in to Steve’s tent.

Him and Steve, they’ve always known that the others knew about them. It could have gone very badly wrong, the first time they let their guard down and Bucky was caught sneaking into the Captain’s tent. If the Howlies had been any less open minded... But they’d become more than just another unit, over time. Hell, it was because of Steve that they even existed. Bucky still wasn’t sure how he’d pulled it off, getting Gabe and Jim and creating the first desegregated unit _ever_ , but he was glad that he had. They were good soldiers and good men, the lot of them. They had each others backs, and not just in battle, which meant that included overlooking the occasional illegal in-unit fraternisation.

Bucky thinks about all this as he lies down next to Steve, sparing a moment to give thanks for the Howlies, and, at this moment, for Steve, who is single-handedly warming Bucky to a temperature he’s pretty sure he hasn’t felt since summer 1940.

He’s feeling thankful; he’s feeling unusually sentimental – and he has a bad feeling about tomorrow.

“Steve?” he murmurs.

They’ve been lying in contented silence for a while, and he doesn’t want to wake Steve up if he’s asleep. Serum or no serum, James Buchanan Barnes has always looked after Steve Rogers and that includes making sure he’s well rested enough to pull off his ridiculous Captain America stunts.

“Mmm?” Steve shifts, and an arm wraps around Bucky’s waist, drawing him in closer. He starts to fiddle with Bucky’s dog tags.

Bucky sucks in a deep breath. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” says Steve. “What’s the matter?”

Bucky knows Steve loves him, but neither of them say it often. The Howlies – and Peggy – are accepting, but they both know that the majority of people wouldn’t be. It’s why ‘punk’ and ‘jerk’ transitioned into being their respective terms of affection. It’s the only way they can say it openly.

But tonight, they’re alone, and Steve can _feel_ the worry radiating off of Bucky.

“I – I have a bad feeling about tomorrow. So - I just wanted to make sure you knew.” he rolls over to face Steve, who has a worried crinkle in between his eyebrows. He spares a moment to be glad that the serum didn’t iron out those little kinks and tells. This is still Steve, underneath the muscle. He still has to repeat that to himself like a mantra, in his darker moments.

“Well. I know. I’ve always known.” Steve replies, quietly, already reviewing the intel and the plan again in his head. He trusts Bucky’s instincts, and if Bucky’s worried, then so is he.

“Hey – no” Bucky runs a thumb over Steve’s cheek. “The plan is a good one. It’s the only one we’ve got, anyway. 

Steve purses his lips, but says nothing. Bucky is right. There’s no other way to get onto the train and pull off their objectives than the way they already have planned. Several hours of strategising with the others have already established that.

“I just have… a feeling.” Bucky frowns. He wishes it felt less like grief.

Something compels him to _do_ something about it. And then an idea comes to mind. He’s thought about it before, but it has always been a pipe dream. Always will be, in actual fact, but something tells him that he needs to tell Steve that he’s thought about it, as a matter of urgency.

“If it were – you know – legal, and everything – I – would you –” he breaks off, frustrated, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed bringing up something like this so completely out of the blue.  “Would you – marry me, if you could?”

“What?” the last words were mumbled, but Steve’s hearing has been enhanced by the serum, and his eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “Are you - really?”

Bucky nods, feeling the tips of his ears go red (and privately grateful that he’s never been one to blush all over, like Steve, which _ugh,_ is such a tell).

"Never mind - it's stupid, I -"

Steve cuts him off. 

“Course I would, Buck. You should know that. ‘Til the end of the line.” Steve is grinning and it lights up his whole face. “You know, just because it ain't legal doesn't mean we can't. Do you – do you wanna switch tags?”

Bucky beams delightedly, worry temporarily forgotten. He scrambles up and takes off his chain in answer, reverently putting it around Steve's neck. 

It’s completely against regulation, and oh god, it’s dangerous, really. If either of them ends up in medical and someone sees that they’ve switched dog tags, well, that couldn’t be a much more blatant announcement that Bucky and Steve is actually _BuckyandSteve._

But... being together is illegal, and getting married is definitely illegal, and this is as close as they’re ever going to get. 

They talk together a while more, imagining a future that they'll probably never have, before he falls asleep, warmed by the gesture, and by Steve pressed solidly next to him.

But he still shivers.

* * *

The worry is still nagging him the next morning. It’s settled heavy in his gut. He can’t finish his ration.

He presses Steve's dog tags to his lips when no one is looking, and tucks them next to his heart, under Steve’s undershirt, the one he nicked with a smirk that morning, as he watched Steve resignedly struggle into Bucky’s one, too small for him now. A year ago, it would have swamped him. 

They’re stood by the wire, looking out over the train tracks. Steve keeps looking at him worriedly, so he tries to cover up his anxiety with sass, just as he always has done.

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” he asks.

“Yeah, and I threw up?”

“This isn’t payback, is it?”

Steve smirks. “Now would I do that?”

Bucky hopes they can go back to Coney Island now this is all over, now that Steve is less likely to revisit his breakfast. He’s not sure they ever will.

He watches Captain America swing towards the train on a zip line. It’s the little guy from Brooklyn who he follows.

They land on the roof.

They’re in. It is strangely quiet.

Then the door slams shut – they are separated – there is no time to think – they fight.

Bucky runs out of ammo. He’s terrified, he’s nauseous.

Steve bursts in, like some avenging angel – his avenging angel, and lobs him a gun.

Relief. Bucky hopes that his bad feeling has been satisfied, that the rest will go according to plan.

“I had him on the ropes,” he mutters to Steve, scrabbling to regain composure.

“I know you did.” says Steve.

But no, then comes some bloke with a gun that’s definitely not earthly, and really, could this mission have gone any worse?

Steve leaps in front of him with the shield.

And then the back end of the train explodes. (Of course it does).

Steve is thrown to the side of the train, and Bucky can see what will happen next, and he can’t lose Steve, he won’t lose Steve, so he grabs the shield and it’s his turn to protect what they have together.

But Bucky isn't built to hold a shield like this for long, and the martian gun is powerful.

Bucky _knew_ this was going to go wrong.

And he was right, wasn’t he, because he’s now hanging for dear life off the edge of a mountain, off of a moving bloody train, hurtling at god knows what speed through the goddamned Alps.

“BUCKY!” That’s Steve, and he’s crawling along the edge of the train too, now, trying to reach for Bucky’s hand, drag him back into the train.

The wind hurts. It’s cold, piercing his skin like a thousand knives, numbing his fingers, loosening his grip.

_Later,_ he’ll be surprised that he even registered the wind as a fact.

“HANG ON!”

_Later,_ he’ll be surprised that the rail he was clinging on to held his weight for so long.

“GRAB MY HAND!”

But all of that comes _later._

Bucky knows what is going to happen a split second before it does - the rail finally gives in. It snaps, and then he’s screaming; tumbling; falling; plummeting to certain death in the craggy rocks below, and all he can see is Steve’s hand reaching out fruitlessly, the agonising grief seizing his face, and all he can feel is sadness that he’ll never see Steve again, that they’ll never go to Coney Island again, that they’ll never go back to their tiny Brooklyn apartment together, they’ll never –

* * *

Of course, it’s not the fall that kills you.

The ground comes up to meet him.

All is black.

He knows no more.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky does not expect to wake up.

But he does.

He wakes up to a searing pain in his left arm. His fingers are colder than ice. He does not need to look down to know that the rocks did a number on it. He experimentally rolls his shoulder anyway, trying to take account of any other injuries, but quickly realises how bad a mistake he’s made. The pain in his arm flares and makes his vision go white. He lets out a distressed noise that he immediately tries to bite back, knowing it’s fruitless, and is promptly met by a bunch of Hydra goons with their guns pressed to his head and three men in lab coats, seemingly having appeared from nowhere.

They examine him closely – measuring, taking blood samples, hair samples, prodding and poking him for what seems like hours. They’re evaluating him for something, and he doesn’t like it. He’d bet five bucks that this has something to do with the experiments in that godawful factory, and then bites his lip, because thinking of the factory means thinking of Steve. He can feel a bruise around his neck that tells him Steve's dog tags have been ripped off somewhere along the line. He hopes that it was before he ended up in the lab, that their secret isn't out. But he has more pressing problems. Forcing himself to think of something else, he takes in his surroundings. There is nothing to indicate where he is, or how long he’s been out. It’s a run of the mill lab, so far as he can tell. It’s just the scientists who are nefarious.

He can taste blood, and runs a tongue around his mouth, checking for all his teeth. 

He would eavesdrop, but there is no point. They’re all talking in what he thinks is Russian.

_Он сделает идеальный объект. Он уже получил тест-сыворотки до инцидента в Австрии. He will make the perfect subject. He already received the test serum before the incident in Austria._

_И, как я говорю вам, что это не достаточно!Проект не предназначен для субъекта, который хочет или не может дать отпор. And as I keep telling you, that's not enough! The project is not designed for a subject who is willing or able to fight back._

_Юсупов прав. Yusupov is right._

_Отлично! Поэтому нам нужен пустой холст. Fine! So we need a blank canvas._

_Да. Но это не будет легко. Yes. But that will not be easy._

_Проще, чем вы думаете, на самом деле. Easier than you think, actually._

_Как вы собираетесь это сделать? How do you intend to do it?_

_Мы стереть его сейчас, а не позже. Использование новой технологии. We erase him now, rather than later. Using the new technology._

_Вы собираетесь перейти непосредственно к стирания памяти? You are going to go directly to the memory wipe?_

_Почему нет? Why not?_

_Вы уверены, что это не будет убивать эту тему? You are sure it won't kill the subject?_

_...Я не знаю, но это будет быстрее. I don’t know, but it will be faster._

_Я начинаю соглашаться. Таким образом, мы можем создать Зимний солдат с самого начала. Нет воспоминания не скомпрометировать его. I begin to agree. This way, we can create our Winter Soldier from the beginning. No memories to compromise him._

_…Я полагаю. I suppose so._

_Достаточно тратить время! Мы должны решать. Юсупов, Сергеев Согласны ли вы? Enough time wasting! We must decide. Yusupov, Sergeyev, are you in agreement?_

_Да. Yes_

_Отлично. Мы должны немедленно приступить. Винокуров, заставить его замолчать. У меня нет использование для кричать. Excellent. We must proceed immediately. Vinokurov, silence him. I have no use for screaming._

He is taken by surprise when one of the black clad goons forces a thick strap of leather between his teeth. The others tighten the straps at his hands, chest and feet. He is completely at their mercy.

He is frightened.

They move two metal plates towards his head. He has no idea what they are, but they look far too close to the Martian technology on the train for his liking. They glow blue.

Then there is ~~pain~~ ~~agony~~ hell.

He screams around the leather; he is already hoarse and his throat feels like it will burst. Fire is coursing through every single limb, like his bones are melting, turning into dust. His heart feels like it is fighting to get out, about to explode from his chest; his organs feel like they are shrinking on themselves – he is still screaming but struggles to draw breath. His teeth are rattling in his mouth.

His head _hurts, it hurts, it hurts it hurts._

And then an unearthly echo rises up in the room. Bucky does not notice it – he is still screaming. But the scientists step back, mouths hanging open. It is like the technology is screaming with the asset, rebelling against being used like this. One of them goes to turn off the machine, thinking it is broken. At the same time, all the glass in the room smashes at once; there is a cacophony of voices yelling in Russian.

Then, for Bucky, sweet, blessed silence.

Blackness descends.

Again. 

* * *

_The body that once housed Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes opens its eyes eight hours later. The Hydra scientists test it repeatedly. But there is nothing of Barnes left. His memories have been wiped. His eyes are empty._

_It is like his spirit has been forced from his body._

_The scientists are satisfied._

_The  left arm is mangled beyond surgical repair; completely irretrievable. Once a new arm has been attached, training of the Winter Soldier may commence._

_Years, perhaps decades, have been shaved off the programme._

_Hail, HYDRA._

_The Asset is led away._

* * *

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes also opens his eyes eight hours later, but he doesn’t know that.

He is confused. The room in which he is stood is full of rubble, and a British voice is mumbling on the radio about the blackout remaining in full effect. Air raid sirens are whining.

Nothing makes sense. He was in a lab – a HYDRA lab – somewhere in the godforsaken depths of Europe. He blinks, disorientated. Now, it seems, he’s stood in the bar he and Steve drank in back in London – bombed out.

His throat tightens at the thought of Steve, but he is more preoccupied by the tension in his head. It _hurts._ Whatever those HYDRA bastards did to him, well, it’s made his brain feel like melted ice cream, it’s almost like he can feel his brain sloshing around his head as he turns his neck stiffly. He’s got brain freeze and everything.

There is movement at the door, and he forces the pain aside for a moment.

It is Peggy Carter.

She doesn't appear to have seen him, and clambers, unfazed, over rubble, looking for someone. He follows her further into the bar. Steve is there, drinking alone.

Bucky doesn’t give a crap that the most emotional outburst he’s ever had in his life is about to be witnessed by an (admittedly kickass) dame. At least she already knows their secret. He feels the widest smile in the universe overtake his face, and charges towards Steve, beaming. He thought he’d never see Steve again, and yet he’s here in front of him!

“Steve! Oh my god, oh my god. Are you okay? I love you, oh my god, you punk, oh my god, I’m not leaving again, I swear...” he is rambling for ages, overcome, before he really _looks_ at Steve and cuts himself off abruptly. 

Steve has not even batted an eyelid. He turns around and looks straight through Bucky, straight at Peggy looking miserable as sin, like he hasn’t heard a word. And then turns away again, screwing up his eyes and trying to hold in tears. There is a dimple in his chin that only appears when Steve is trying his utmost to hold in all emotion. Bucky hasn’t seen that dimple since the day he shipped out. The only time before that was when Steve’s ma died, and that was years ago, now.

“Steve, come on, punk, look at me. I’m here, I’m fine, see?”

Bucky doesn’t understand. How did he get here? And why is Steve ignoring him?

Steve pours himself another glass. The bottle is nearly empty, but when Steve opens his mouth, he sounds completely coherent. Hoarse. Like he’s being crying for days.

“Dr Erskine said that the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing.  Which means, um… I can’t get drunk. Did you know that?”

“That sucks, Steve – but I don’t – ”

“Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person…” Peggy cuts over him, and wow, this whole _let’s ignore Bucky_ act is getting real boring real fast. You’d think Steve would be happy he’s here, and alive –

_Oh._

But he’s not, is he? Peggy is still talking, but Bucky feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. He didn’t, as would have been logical, wake up in a nice London hospital, he didn’t come and find Steve in this bombed out bar, he just found himself here.

Steve is ignoring him because he _cannot see him_. Peggy cannot see him.

Which means he’s dead.  

_Fuck._

He looks down at himself, and he doesn’t _see_ anything different... he's not glowing or translucent or floating or anything. But then he tunes back into the conversation just in time to hear that Steve is blaming himself. He tentatively reaches out to put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder.

It goes straight through him.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“No, no, no” he moans brokenly. “Steve!” his throat is tight, eyes stinging. “No, it wasn’t your fault, I don’t blame you. I’d do it all again you stupid punk, I’d do it all again to keep you safe. _I love you._ ”

Steve cannot hear him. His words are useless. He is useless.

Peggy is trying to talk Steve out of it, and Bucky is grateful, really he is, but she’s going about it all the wrong way. She knows their secret, but she doesn’t understand, not really.

Hell, she barely knows Steve… There is no one left who does.

Bucky realises that he is crying. He’s been bereaved too. Sure he can see Steve, but Steve will never see him again. Nor will his sister, or the rest of the Howlies, or even the guys down at the docks.

But, _Steve._ He’s never going to curl up next to Steve again, even on the nights when it’s too warm to do anything but melt into the sheets. He’s never going to –

No – he can mourn later. Information, now. Steve is still talking to Peggy.

“I’m going after Schmidt. I’m not gonna stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.”

Aw, hell. He knows that tone of voice, and it means Steve is about to do something – or, in the circumstances, lots of things – that are _monumentally stupid._

“You won’t be alone.”

She’s wrong. Bucky doubts Steve has ever felt more alone. Bucky certainly hasn’t.

After a few more minutes sat in silence, Peggy gets up and leaves. The dam Steve has built up around his emotions explodes, and he starts crying in earnest.

The sound breaks Bucky’s heart. Is it possible to die twice?

* * *

After that, Bucky follows Steve everywhere. He might not be there in body, but his spirit must be here for _some_ reason, and he can’t imagine that that could possibly be any other reason than being with Steve.

He finds out that when Peggy came looking; Steve had already been AWOL for fifteen hours. He blinks when even Colonel Phillips turns a sympathetic blind eye.

He watches the Howlies gather round Steve, offering silent, dignified support.

Bucky double takes when Falsworth looks straight at him, recognition – shock - clear on his face. But then Monty shakes his head vigorously, gives the rest of his drink to Dum-Dum and determinedly does not look in that direction again. Bucky has no way to regain his attention, and curses for hours afterwards at the lost opportunity.

At night, Steve stuffs his fist in his mouth to stifle the sounds of distress that escape his throat. In the morning, when Steve opens his eyes, he looks disappointed to have done so. Bucky chatters away at Steve constantly; screaming in sheer frustration when soothing words fall upon deaf ears. He can tell that it’s taking more than super-serum strength to get Steve to put one foot in front of the other right now, mourning a man who is _stood right next to him,_ and he can’t do jack-all about it _._

Bucky is mourning too. He watches Steve every night, sleeping less than peacefully, and watches him stride around the base with a face like thunder. Bucky is still there, kinda, but he’s lost the love of his life too.

* * *

His head still hurts. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian in this chapter is, of course, all thanks to Google Translate. If it's hideously wrong, please let me know and I'll change it!


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not long before Steve is summoned into a briefing. Bucky follows, and clambers up to perch in the middle of the table. Why not? It’s not like there’s a spare chair for him, and imagining the look on Phillips’ face if he knew that his dead sergeant was sprawled all across his top secret briefing papers makes him laugh.

The amusement is short lived. Steve is silent during the briefing – contemplative. There is a little crease between his eyebrows that Bucky wants to smooth out.

It emerges that Hydra’s last base is in the Alps, 500 feet below the surface. Bucky has had quite enough of the Alps, _thank you very much,_ but it looks like he’ll be paying a return visit because ghost or no ghost, he's sure as hell not letting Steve go anywhere without him. 

“So what are we supposed to do? I mean, it’s not like we can just knock on the front door.” Morita says.

Bucky groans and wishes that Jim had engaged his verbal filter. He’d bet every dollar he ever stashed under his mattress that he knows what Steve is about to say next -

“Why not?” Steve grinds out. “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”

\- and apparently, he’d win that bet.

Everyone looks at Steve, gobsmacked, and then start to chatter animatedly, planning their approach.

Bucky groans again.

* * *

It all happens very quickly after that. Before he knows it, Bucky is perched on the back of Steve’s motorbike, weaving from left to right through an alpine forest on the way to take out Hydra’s last base.

He's a ghost, and he can't even feel the wind on his face, but even so it's exhilarating. He’d be laughing like a hyena if it weren’t for the thugs on their tale with more of those goddamn alien guns. Once upon a time, he liked science fiction. He’d go to the public library back in New York every now and then and read about the impossible. Except it’s apparently not as impossible as everyone thought, and Bucky wishes with all his might that it had stayed just fiction.

Steve’s shield is lodged on the back of the bike, protecting Steve as he rides. It’s also the only place Bucky could catch a lift, and each time one of the guns strikes true, the blue light doesn’t just hit the shield, but Bucky too. Each one ripples through his chest, and it’s a mighty uncomfortable feeling, almost painful, like a bucket of ice cold water drenches him every time.

 

_[Elsewhere, the Asset is suddenly laid up for three days after inexplicably losing consciousness.]_

 

Steve presses a button, and a trip wire attaches itself to two trees, knocking some of the goons from their bikes. Another button, and the two boys from Brooklyn are off, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Bucky likes these new additions, and sometimes wonders why they need to wait for the future for flying cars when they’ve already got motorbikes that can do this kinda thing.

Steve pinches a grenade pin as he rides past two of the Hydra goons, and even in the thick of the fight Bucky has to smile at how casual he is when he does it. Even since the serum, everyone underestimates Steve.

Then Steve is fighting, throwing and catching his shield through explosions and gunfire like a pro, before everything goes to shit when the pair of them are cornered between two idiots with flamethrowers, and they’re completely surrounded. Bucky suddenly wonders if it was such a good idea after all, coming with Steve, because he can’t _do_ anything, he can only stand by and watch Steve throw himself into danger, and that has never, repeat _never_ , been his MO.  

Fortunately, they don’t shoot – Bucky isn’t sure why, it’s the perfect opportunity to eliminate their biggest threat, although he’s beyond glad that they stow their trigger fingers away for the time being. Instead, Steve is marched into a room where they are fortunate enough to reacquaint themselves with Schmidt, who is radiating smugness.

“Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait, but I must say, you do it better than anyone.” Schmidt remarks snidely, and Bucky snorts. Steve has never been arrogant. He had more than enough arrogance for the pair of them. “But there are limits to what even you can do, Captain. Or did Erskine tell you otherwise?”

“He told me you were insane.” Steve retorts, goading the nice insane man with the red skull, and Bucky takes it back. Steve _can_ be a little bit arrogant, at times.

He leaves them to their conversation and examines the room they’re in, looking for an out as a matter of habit, despite having no way to communicate it even if he found one.

“…what made you so special?” Schmidt’s voice is just the right pitch to make Bucky’s ears itch. It’s irritating.

“Nothin’. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn” Steve scoffs, and Bucky smiles at him fondly, knowing Steve is thinking back to that night back in London, the night the Howlies came to be.

Schmidt punches Steve, hard in the face, and aims his stupid blue gun at Steve and Bucky is hollering insults at Schmidt, arms wrapped tightly around Steve’s middle so that at least if he dies, Bucky has the reassurance of knowing that it wasn’t alone – and then the Howlies burst in through the window in a fashion uncomfortably reminiscent of that day everything went to shit on the train, which Bucky resolutely _does not_ think of, choosing instead to be glad that they have such ridiculously perfect timing.

Then there’s chaos – again, because apparently ‘Rest in _Peace_ ’ does not extend to all dead souls. Bucky decides he must have murdered someone really good and virtuous in a past life or something.

Monty lobs Steve his shield and then they’re off, running through the tunnels - Dum Dum has picked up an alien gun from somewhere and Bucky is malevolently glad to see them get a taste of their own medicine when the Hydra goon nearest his left suddenly disintegrates in a flash of blue light.

Steve almost runs straight into a flamethrower and Bucky, without thinking runs – slams straight into Steve’s chest and pushes him hard towards an alcove and away from the flames.

It works.

He’s looking gobsmacked between Steve, who is rubbing his chest and looking confused, and his own hands which have never done anything solid since he died,  and is about to say something when Agent Carter turns up with a machine gun and kindly disposes of the threat.

Steve, still singled mindedly focussing on Schmidt, runs straight through Bucky in his determination to get his hands on his shield, and Bucky doesn’t know what he’d been hoping had changed, but clearly he’s still invisible to Steve.

There’ll be time to see if that’s a permanent state of affairs later.

They’re running again and end up in a large hangar just in time to realise that Schmidt is doing his damndest to escape on a plane. But then Phillips and Carter emerge in a massive pretentious car (it doesn’t take two guesses to work out who owns it) and Bucky just about has time to leap in the car after Steve, landing on sprawled Peggy’s lap and distractedly noting that she shivers when he does so.

The car goes to ridiculous high speeds, which just about lets them both swing onto the plane as it leaves the runway, still searching out Schmidt and running past a bomb ominously labelled ‘New York’.

They’re running again.

Steve falls out of the plane.

Bucky sinks to his knees, mouth hanging open, numb. Steve is gone. Steve is gone, Steve is gone.

_Now what?_

And then the smaller plane – bomb – whatever – comes crashing back inside, with Steve in the pilot seat.

Honestly, dead people should not have to deal with this shit.

Finally, they make it to the controls. Schmidt is conspicuously absent, and Steve only just has time to throw his shield over himself when he appears from behind with another one of those bloody guns.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Schmidt doesn't sound like a defeated man, though, and Steve obviously hears it too because then he’s running again, and enters into hand to hand combat.

Bucky watches through his fingers. He can’t do anything, and he doesn't particularly want to watch, but he can’t _not_ watch, either.  

Schmidt is going on about the power of gods, but Steve isn't interested – he throws his shield and Schmidt is sent flying, back into the blue thing that started all this trouble in the first place.

Schmidt picks up the cube, and then – well, Bucky isn't sure what happens next, but can honestly say that he hasn't seen anything like before in his ~~life~~ ~~death~~ entire existence. 

The light is everywhere. The ceiling of the plane is gone, and all Bucky can see is… the universe.

There is a humming, a singing in his ear that is almost familiar. He’s sure he’s heard it before. It's a melody that weaves it way through the stars and galaxies before him like magic. It is beautiful. It is hypnotising. Something about it soothes Bucky's soul and he can’t take his eyes away from the sight. He finds himself stepping forward, reaching out to touch it, wanting to know more -

Schmidt screams and disappears in a burst of the blue light, and the stars are gone. The blue cube falls to the floor – Bucky moves as if to catch it, wanting to bring back the stars, but it is burning through each layer of the plane until it is gone, falling down to the ocean below.

A knot of deep disappointment settles heavy in Bucky’s gut, as if the tesseract had some greater significance than just being the cause of most of this trouble in the first place - but he doesn’t have time to contemplate what it means before Steve is rushing to take the controls of the plane and radios back to base. 

Morita’s voice replies, but only for a second before Peggy boots him off the radio.

Steve looks so scared and so _young._ Bucky already knows what is about to happen. He can’t stop it.

Out of the window, there is only ice.

He listens to Peggy make him promise to meet her at the Stock Club for a dance, and can feel only gratitude that there is a familiar voice in Steve’s ear, something comforting to listen to in his final moments.

Steve fumbles for his compass. There is a picture of Peggy there, for show, but Bucky knows that underneath, away from prying eyes, there is a small scrap of the letter Bucky wrote for Steve in case of – in case. A small bit of Bucky. He watched Steve put it there – after what happened on the train.

Steve will _always_ have Bucky. And if Steve is about to die, then maybe Bucky will be allowed to rest with him, no more of this ghostly business that makes no sense to him.

Both of them exhale. They’re about to be together again. Forever, this time. No judgment - Bucky cannot seriously imagine that they will be condemned for an emotion such as love.

It sounds wonderful. 

Steve presses Bucky's dog tags to his lips. Bucky wraps ghostly arms around broad shoulders, clings to him as the plane hits the ice.

“Bucky, I – ” Steve says, but is cut off. 

* * *

Steve’s head shoots forward and ricochets off the controls in front of him as the nose of the plane impacts with an almighty crash, and he immediately loses consciousness without so much as a grunt.  Blood trickles down his forehead, across closed eyelids.

Bucky is totally helpless. As much as he wants to be together with Steve again, this is no way to die. Steve deserves better. He supposes that with the serum, there is a very slim chance that Steve could still be alive. But even if that were true, it isn’t a state of affairs that could continue for very long. Even the serum couldn't prevent freezing.

For a short while, Steve issues the occasional feeble groan or twitch, and every time without fail Bucky seizes upon each sign of life with new hope, and just like he had each night back at the base, chatters at Steve for hours and hours, never mind that he couldn't hear him. He rants and raves about how bloody _stupid_ Steve had been, crashing the plane into the ice when there were probably at least ten different ways he could have disabled the programming, even though he knows exactly why Steve had done it. He chatters about Brooklyn, and vague memories of alley fights, and promises to barter all his possessions for the best art stuff Steve could possibly want. Bucky hasn’t believed in God for a while. He’d lost all remaining faith after the horrors at the factory, but prayers tumble from his lips now, praying, hoping, wishing that at least on some level Steve could know that he isn't alone.

But quickly, the groans and the twitches fade away. Bucky is in complete denial. He pretends it is just a coma, for a while. But the ice makes that delusion difficult to maintain.

The plane jerks, slipping further and further into the ocean. Seawater steadily leaks inside, and as quickly as it comes in, it freezes. It creeps up around Steve at an alarming rate, covering his feet first – then his legs, and his shield, and his arms. And, as it thickens, the cloudier it becomes, until you can see nothing underneath.

Bucky kicks furiously at the ice, flying into a rage when his foot does nothing to dislodge the icy tomb that was growing up around his lover. And then, as Steve disappears inch by inch, he gives up his fruitless effort and takes to pressing ghostly kisses to Steve’s temple while he still can, closing his eyes and imagining soft, warm skin against his lips.

And then, there is just ice.

* * *

Bucky has no way of knowing how much time goes by. The sun does not rise or set inside icy coffins; there are no seasons. After a while, he decides it doesn't matter much anyway. If they weren't going to be dead together, then this was clearly the reason - he had returned to this earth to stand sentry by Steve’s tomb, and he would do so until the end of time, seeing as that appeared to be where the line would end for him.

Never let it be said that Bucky Barnes would break a promise to the dead love of his life.

* * *

He thinks about Becca, sometimes. Wonders what she’d done with her life; if she is happy. He likes to think so. That girl had always had fire roaring in her belly.

He thinks about the commandos, too. Wonders if the war was finally over, how it ended. Wonders if they’re building the lives they’d always talked about building, once the army released its grip.

* * *

Occasionally, he wonders what had happened to his body. HYDRA probably disposed of it. What use would they have with a corpse?

It _was_ odd, though. The pain in his head had eventually fades away, but at long intervals, he gets a phantom ache in his arm, or a flash of blinding agony across his temple, a sharp niggle in the very back of his memory.

You’d think ghosts would be free of pain.

* * *

Sometimes, the rumble of a plane sounds from far, far above. He goes outside, once. He wasn’t sure how a ghost would draw the attention of a distant aircraft, but he had to try. Stevie had always hated the cold; deserved better than to spend eternity here. 

* * *

_[The Asset goes rogue in 1959, 1967 and 1984.]_

Bucky Barnes doesn’t realise it, but there are three times when he flickers out of existence, and there is no sentry next to Steve Rogers' grave. 

* * *

Sometimes, he thinks about the fateful Stark Expo. Remembers Steve’s disappearance to the Recruitment Office (where else?) He can’t decide how he feels about it. Sometimes he wishes it didn’t happen, so Steve would be safe, if frail in New York. Then he regrets his selfishness. Remembers that another winter in Brooklyn without Bucky to share his body heat would probably have finished Steve off in any case. Remembers that he himself would have died in the factory **;** remembers Steve’s pain when he fell off the train.

His own grief is such that he ~~thinks~~ knows that he’d have killed himself too, had things been reversed.

* * *

There’ll be an empty grave for him, somewhere back in the States. One for Steve too.

* * *

He is constantly terrified that he will forget Steve’s face, the timbre of his voice, the reassuring weight of Steve’s arm across his waist as they sleep, the taste of Steve’s lips.

He needn’t worry. Every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is Steve.

* * *

The cold seeps into his very being. He tries to remember the feeling of warmth on his skin, but can’t. 

* * *

There are times when he thinks that if it were possible, he’d die all over again from sheer aching loneliness.

* * *

He is angry. He is sad.

He wonders what the future is actually like, now that everyone outside is experiencing it. He imagines New York with flying cars. Imagines what it would have been like, had they been awake and living it together.

* * *

He spends hours and hours locked in his own mind. Hell, it was probably longer than just mere hours. Decades probably go by in between periods of thought, between conversations with a man who cannot hear. How many, he could not guess.

* * *

In the end, the number of decades turns out to be nearly seven.

But Bucky would swear it was longer. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for your comments. It's lovely to know people are actually reading and enjoying! Stay tuned :)

Bucky could cry with relief when he hears machinery – machinery that’s not thousands of feet above them, but so close it can only mean one thing.

They’ve finally been found.

He’s stood where he’s always stood – next to Steve, when a light – blue, because isn’t it always? - starts to creep in, moving round and round in a circle, cutting a circular sheet of metal out of the top of the plane which lands with an almighty crash. He’s torn between relief at seeing daylight (of a sort) for the first time in who knows how long, and worry that the people that have found them are not the kind of people you want to be found _by_.

A man is lowered into the plane. Bucky tenses. Even after all this time, he moves out of habit like what he’s doing will mean something. But the newcomer doesn’t even bat an eyelid at the movement.

The way they’re looking around with flashlights suddenly makes Bucky think that these people don’t know what it is that they’ve stumbled across.

The voices are American, which is a major bonus. But even so, who knows if they’ll even realise who Captain America was? He doubts it; the Howlies have probably been lost to history by now. But at least they’ve somewhat of a chance with Americans.

One of them approaches the controls – _Steve_ – and rubs a hand over the ice.

Bucky holds his breath.                            

“Lieutenant! What is it?”

Oh god. They don’t know what they’ve found, they’ll probably just abandon them again and Steve will be left to spend millennia buried in ice.

But then the other man gets a look.

“My God. Base, get me a line to the Colonel… I don’t care what time it is. This one’s waited long enough.”

Bucky stumbles to his knees and cries.

_Finally._

* * *

Not a lot happens, at first.

More and more people gather, obviously having set up some kind of base outside.

There’s a terse discussion about salvage laws, and who should be permitted to claim _the cadaver,_ which makes Bucky go almost blind in anger and rage and renewed grief.  

This is Steven Grant Rogers, from Brooklyn, NY. He is only 25 years old. He was born to a pair of Irish Immigrants. His father was in the 107th and died from the effects of mustard gas. His mother was a nurse, tough as they came until the tuberculosis finally wore her down. He likes to draw with charcoal, and he likes to sit on the roof on July 4th every year and pretend the fireworks are for him. He hates potato soup, but will eat it anyway because his ma taught him never to be wasteful, to always be grateful for what little he has. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, and he weighed 90 pounds soaking wet, until he didn’t, and he is loved and will always be loved by a man named James Buchanan Barnes.

He is a human being, and despite his eventual fate, _he is_ _not a cadaver._

Thankfully, the discussion is short and unfruitful. The two men who found the shield – he thinks they’re the same two men, but it’s hard to tell under the enormous fur lined hoods – shut down that discussion pretty quickly.

“This is _Captain America_ you’re talking about.”

“Show some goddamn respect!”

* * *

Now that Steve has been found, now that he can be afforded a proper burial, Bucky can’t even begin to fathom what comes next. He has been sure for a long damn time that the only reason he came back in the first place was to stay with Steve until the plane was found. The plane has been found – he has no other unfinished business.

 _So why,_ he thinks, _am I still here?_

Not long after that thought flickers through his mind, his question is answered, and in a way he _never_ would have expected, not even if he’d waited another million years.

Another group of men – he’s losing count, by this point, of who’s who and who does what, but he thinks this latest set are scientists – approach Steve’s chair, and they begin to scan the ice with some kind of machine. The machine is emitting all sorts of beeps and noises that probably mean something, and Bucky’s never seen anything like it, not even at the expo.

Nothing he’s seen since they were discovered has allowed him even to begin to guess what year he’s ended up in.

That line of thinking is cut short immediately when the scientist drops the machine in shock.

“That’s impossible!” he turns to Scientist Two. “Double check this reading for me, will you?”

Scientist Two takes his own machine and scans the ice again.

“Holy Shit!”

“Right?” says Scientist One, eyes wide.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?!” Boss Man Scientist cuts off the exchange, scowling.

“Sir – the reading’s say that this guy is still alive!”

Bucky’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates and he looks from the scientists to Steve’s shield, which they’ve already chiselled free, and back again, not daring even to blink, breathe or swallow, just in case (of what, he's not sure). 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Boss Man Scientist, "you must have done it wrong!" He snatches a third machine impatiently from another scientist lurking behind him, and running the scan again.

Silence descends for a minute, and then –

“Holy Mother of God!”

* * *

Bucky is… okay, if he had to evaluate it he would say that he is about 50% overjoyed at this latest development and 50% concerned. There are too many what if’s for his liking.

What if Steve was awake the whole time, frightened out of his mind? What if he’s got brain damage? What if they can’t wake him up? What if? What if?

What if?

Eventually, they pry the ice loose and a crane comes to lift it out of the plane, which has had its entire roof removed at this point. Bucky hitches a ride, perching on top, having resolved (as if there was ever a doubt) that he would continue to keep an eye on Steve, share in this future with him in whatever miniscule way he can manage.

On the plane, they begin to melt the ice, and he is completely absorbed by the dripping of the water as it finally releases its grip. He doesn’t even look around, wide eyed at the future.

Drip, drip, drip.

Little by little the ice retreats, and Bucky, still too afraid to let himself hope, ruthlessly quashes the feelings that are trying to rise in his belly as Steve gradually comes back into view.

It’s not a pretty sight. Steve’s hair is blonde as it ever was, but his nose is black, his lips, fingers and toes are all a vivid, sickening shade of purple, the rest of his skin blistered practically beyond recognition.

Frostbite.

Pearly tears run down his cheeks as Bucky takes it all in, thinking that his fears have been realised, that the machines were wrong, that the what if’s have won out.

But within hours of the ice melting, the blisters start to smooth out, the purple fading to blue, normal colour returning.

Bucky realises, jaw agape, that he’d never really seen what the super serum could _do,_ other than in the superficial changes, never really realised that the super healing really was, well, super.

The murmurings of scientists, doctors and nurses tell him that no one else had ever realised it, either, or that any evidence of it has long since been lost.

Even as Steve gradually becomes more recognisable, there are murmurings of hypothermic shock, but Bucky is beginning to have faith that Steve will come back to him, and he finally allows himself to take account of his surroundings, sure that taking his eyes away for a minute or two will not cause the world to end after all.

The hospital room is large, white and shiny. The lights are blinding, brighter than any light he’s ever seen before. There is a cacophony of persistent noises, beeps and drips from all the machines and equipment they’ve got set up and attached to Steve. Everything smells clean, and in some way, it all feels a little familiar, but even so, it all feels wrong and it’s very jarring.  

At one point, a woman clad in a white lab coat comes in wielding a scanner like a sword, swearing that she’s detected tesseract energy. She points it straight at Bucky, who instantly is swamped in a sensation that isn’t unlike pins and needles, and she even sticks her hand through his face, swearing that there’s something there.

There isn’t a something, but there is a _someone_. He is still invisible, but this experience and a vague recollection of Falsworth looking straight at him one night in a bar makes him wonder if maybe there’s more to this ghost business than he had assumed, and resolves to look into it, if he’s ever able to do so.

But he can do that later. Right now, there’s something else to be worried about.

Which is to say, there are two men stood at the end of Steve’s bed. Lacking a name for either of them, Bucky has christened them Eye Patch Man and Fan Boy. Fan Boy keeps sneaking back into the room when he clearly thinks no one is looking and shuffling through a set of cards. On closer inspection, Bucky has identified them as some sort of trading cards with Steve’s face plastered all over them. Once this fact sinks in, he bends over double, convulsing with laughter imagining the look he _knows_ will be on Steve’s face if ever set eyes on the cards. He can’t remember that last time he laughed that hard. The thought is sobering. 

Anyway – Eye Patch Man and Fan Boy are arguing at the foot of Steve’s hospital bed about how they should break the news to Steve that he’s waking up in the future. Bucky’s been eavesdropping for all he’s worth, but he still hasn’t established how far in the future they are. It’s incredibly frustrating.

Eye Patch Man is all for recreating a replica of a hospital room from the 1940’s.

Bucky is aghast. Doing that will only unsettle Steve, disorientate him from day one in the strange new world that exists outside. Every time Steve wakes up, he’s going to panic; he’ll never be able to trust that the world is waking up to is the one he left the night before. It’s a terrible idea, and he yells at Eye Patch Man until he is hoarse. Eye Patch Man doesn’t hear him, of course, but Fan Boy is on Bucky’s side.

They move Steve into what for all intents and purposes, is basically a movie set, and Bucky watches, shaking his head as a practically perfect replica of what they left behind grows up around them. There are people walking around with clipboards discussing whether things are _period appropriate_ and Bucky hates them all.

Then Fan Boy comes in.

“I’ve brought a baseball game,” he says, waving a small metal circle at one of the people building the set. “Load that CD onto your radio and then you’ll have a familiar sound playing, for when he wakes up.”

For a moment, Bucky feels like Fan Boy has betrayed him, bringing extra props to help this farce come off without a hitch. But then he looks closer. The small metal circle – a see-dee? - is labelled ‘Dodgers v Phillies May 1941’ in neat black writing, and Bucky looks from it to Fan Boy and suddenly understands. He’s brought this game on purpose - one that he knows Steve had attended in person, to at least give him a fighting chance of understanding that something’s wrong when he finally regains consciousness (No one is quite sure why that hasn’t already happened, and there are hypotheses being flung around that Bucky simply refuses to accept. _When_ Steve wakes up, and it _will_ be a when, he’s going to be _fine._ It’s simply not possible that Steve has survived all of that just to wake up brain damaged).

Bucky makes the effort to learn Fan Boy’s name after that. It’s the only reward he’s capable of giving. According to the ID badge on the lanyard around his neck, Fan Boy is actually named Philip J. Coulson, a name which Bucky wouldn’t mind betting Steve will become familiar with pretty quickly.

Bucky laughs like a clown when the set is finally finished. He’s not seen the outside yet – wouldn’t leave Steve’s sickbed even if he could – but _knows_ his boyfriend, knows he will spot the fact that he attended the game they have on the radio within a minute or two of waking up, and he can’t wait to see the fallout.

Twenty four hours later, Steve opens his eyes. 


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky has been bracing himself for this, but he still cannot believe it. Steve’s eyes are _open_ , which is something he never thought he’d see again. They’re open and they’re beautiful and oh thank god, they’re _exactly_ how Bucky remembers them – beautiful, deep pools of blue.

And not only that – they’re sharp and alert.

Relief courses through him, top to toe and back again, and it’s like a three ton weight has just been lifted from his shoulders.

He watches Steve blink through a split second of disorientation, and then the game playing in the background clearly sinks in, because Steve’s eyebrows furrow, a deep crease settling in between them.

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He doesn’t need any further confirmation to see that not only has Steve survived against all the odds, but his mental faculties are obviously all there, because it has taken him less than two seconds to realise that the game on the radio is not only several seasons old but one that he actually attended and therefore – something is wrong.

Steve swings his legs off the bed, sits up and looks around. He’s surprisingly limber for a man who has literally been frozen.

Then the door clicks open, and a woman walks in. Bucky can’t be heard, so he doesn’t bother to withhold his snort. He still doesn’t know what the year really is, but he’s seen enough to know that this woman has obviously been into hair and make up to look like she’s from 40’s. She actually reminds him a little of Peggy Carter, which makes him even more uncomfortable witnessing this whole charade.

“Good Morning – or should I say afternoon?”

“Where am I?” Steve says, low and dangerous.It’s the first time Bucky has heard him speak in a long, long time, and the timbre of Steve’s voice sends a shiver through his spine. 

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City” says the woman. Steve looks around, but is clearly unconvinced.

“Where am I - really?” he says, eyes narrowed. Bucky scoffs, because this is ridiculous. How long are they going to try and keep this up before they admit they’ve been lying? It’s not going to help them win any favours.

"I’m afraid I don’t understand…” the woman is fidgeting now. Steve is clearly on to her, but she’s not giving in yet. Bucky can’t help the grin that fights its way onto his face.

“The game,” says Steve, “It’s from May, 1941. I know, ‘cause I was there.”

There’s a vein twitching in Steve’s temple that tells Bucky he’s trying really, _really_ hard to keep his voice somewhat level and not to roll his eyes. Stupid punk knows how to treat a lady right even when he’s feeling threatened. Bucky isn’t sure why he’s bothering. The woman knows she’s been rumbled, her eyes are as large as dinner plates.

And Steve is on the brink of losing his temper.

“Now, I’m gonna ask you again. Where am I?”

“Captain Rogers…” the woman tries to hedge -  _again._

“Who are you?!” Steve explodes, and the woman has obviously sent a signal of some kind because suddenly a bunch of goons all dressed up in black, alarmingly like the HYDRA goons from back in the day, burst into the room, armed to the teeth.

Steve takes in the scene in a split second and then goes on the defensive. He throws one of the goons out of the back of the set and does a runner. Bucky follows as they run through large hallways, brimming over with people scattering at the sound of the alarm that’s playing throughout the building.

Then they’re in the street, and it’s busy, and noisy, and if it really _is_ New York, it doesn’t goddamn feel like it, everything’s foreign.

They end up in what Bucky kind of recognises as Times Square, but it’s not _their_ Times Square. As one, they grind to a halt. They’re promptly surrounded by giant black cars, and Steve is looking around, confused. Bucky is as gobsmacked as Steve.

“At ease, soldier!”

Bucky scowls. It’s Eye Patch Man, whose really fucking stupid idea had panned out exactly how Bucky _told him_ it would (he’s choosing to conveniently forget that Eye Patch Man couldn’t actually hear Bucky yell at him about that).

“Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly.”

“Break _what?”_ Steve exclaims. He doesn’t just sound confused, he sounds desperate and alone, and all the things that Bucky had promised him he’d never feel again. That look on Steve’s face… it hurts to look at, and a new rush of bitterness rises up in Bucky’s gut. All he wants to do, more than _anything_ in the world, is to wrap his arms around him and shelter him from all of this. But he can’t.

Eye Patch Man looks at Steve solemnly.

“You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost 70 years.”

This is the first time Bucky has realised just how long they were stuck on that godforsaken plane, and he’s sure the look on Steve’s face mirrors his own.

70 years. By now, everyone they know is probably dead. Everything they ever owned, destroyed.

They dreamed of the future, but it was only ever meant to _be_ a dream. Not this.

“You gonna be ok?” says Eye Patch Man, tone flat but not, Bucky thinks, entirely without sympathy.

Steve doesn’t answer straight away. He’s obviously reeling.

“Yeah,” he forces out eventually. “Yeah. I just… I had a date.”

Bucky’s stomach drops.

He knows how it’ll have ended up in the history books. Anyone who got their hands on that last recording, the one from the plane, will hear that conversation and think Steve was sweet on Agent Carter. But Agent Carter is probably long dead by now, and although no one knows it, Steve _wasn’t_ sweet on Agent Carter, Steve ~~was~~ is _his._

It’s not the Stork Club that Steve’s talking about, but no one else knows that.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt that the Howlies would never have given up their secret – so no one, but no one, could know the truth about Bucky and Steve. Steve who had crashed a plane into the Arctic in the hope that he’d see Bucky again, after death.

Bucky, who had kinda been hoping the same thing.

Yeah. They had a date. 

* * *

The future is made of chrome and glass.

Bucky remembers Steve complaining about the Chrysler Building going up, and then again when work started on the Empire State Building. They were both just kids themselves, but Steve would sketch buildings on whatever cheap paper he could lay his hands on, whining that even he could have done a better job and Bucky would laugh fondly at him, sneaking crumpled up bits of paper out of the bin and adding them to his own collection of original Steve Rogers works.

Hell, you can barely even see either building now, for everything that has sprung up around them.

Steve and Bucky both have their noses glued to the windows of the cars that take them back to wherever the hell they’re going, but they don’t get long to take in this new New York, because within about five seconds of arriving, Steve is bundled back into the building he’d just escaped from, still reeling from Eye Patch Man dropping his little bombshell.

* * *

For a few short days, they leave Steve be, which is probably a good thing because Bucky knows Steve, and if they try to force him to assimilate any more information too soon, they’ll inevitably just have another escape on their hands.

Aside from anything else, Steve is still grieving. In a lot of ways, he simply resumes the routine that Bucky had had to watch back at the base in England. He looks disappointed to open his eyes every morning. He cries himself to sleep, trying to stifle the sobs. No one is watching him – Steve found and wrecked the cameras pretty quickly, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have audio.

But at the English base, Steve had still had duties to attend to, and he'd forced himself to keep going. There is none of that now. Steve has the run of precisely three rooms; a tiny bedroom, an attached bathroom and a gym that he can only go to if he is escorted by the suits who lurk outside his door 24 hours a day. Steve takes this in with blank eyes, sinks down on the tiny bed and stares at the wall with empty eyes. He doesn't bother to use the gym, just naps fitfully, eats the food he's given like a dutiful little soldier and stares at the goddamn wall, obviously watching all his memories like home movies and torturing himself by thinking about all the people who are long gone now. He's practically catatonic, and it scares Bucky to death, but all he can do is watch. During the daytime, Steve takes up his every thought, and if Bucky can’t physically be with him, he can do his best. He keeps talking away to Steve like he's done every day since this nightmare began and is helpless to do anything else. 

Nights are different. When Steve finally drifts off into troubled dreams, Bucky lies back next to him and stares up at the ceiling, trying to figure out his own predicament.

Everything he’s ever heard about ghosts tells him that they only stay on earth because they have unfinished business. He supposes that Steve qualifies – they’d never leave each other voluntarily, after all. But that’s not the end to the story, is it? Falsworth may have written it up as his own imagination, but somehow, Bucky _knows_ that he saw him in the pub that night, so many years ago. There's the fact that Bucky actually managed to push Steve out of the way of a flamethrower. Then, there’s the plane. Away from the ice, he can start to think a little clearer about the time they spent there. He remembers the headaches and the cold and that’s just something else that doesn’t add up. Dead people don’t get things as trifling as headaches.

And the woman back in the hospital, shrieking about tesseract energy. _That’s_ the thing that resonates with him most. When he really thinks, really tries to remember past the pain, he looks back to the lab he woke up in after he fell. He doesn't remember much - it just makes his brain throb, but he's sure he remembers a blue glow. Blue like the Martian guns on the train. Blue like the tesseract - the tesseract which had been so curiously familiar, so enticing to him on the plane. The stupid thing has been causing them problems since the very beginning, so he wouldn’t be surprised to hear it was involved now.

And so he lies there, and he weighs up all this evidence, but he can't work out what this all means. One theory is that maybe – just maybe – he might not actually be dead. But he writes it off almost immediately. If the Russians hadn’t killed him, he’d be in his 90’s by now, if he hadn’t already died. He's got to be dead. But he's also sure that his current predicament is more than just being your average, run of the mill ghost. It's something else.

Something to do with the tesseract _._ Which, he supposes, means that he’s in the best possible place, even when you discount the benefit of having Steve around. The scientists here are obviously familiar with the cursed thing, so there must be information on it somewhere around, information he can use.

All he can do for now is sit back and listen for anything – even a whisper – about the tesseract, and hope that eventually, something changes. Becoming _visible_ would be a good start.

He’s waited 70 years. He can wait a bit longer.

* * *

Eventually, the powers that be clearly decide that Steve’s had plenty of time to digest. A routine is quickly established: they rather optimistically call it reintegration. But Bucky's not sure that Steve will ever be able to really integrate in such a strange new world, even if he wanted to. Every day is the same: PT – Psych – History Lessons.

It’s good for both of them. PT is useless for Bucky, but he likes to watch Steve move around the mat, sweaty and beautiful and alive. It's a refreshing change to the numb stillness of the last week.

He walks with Steve to psych, but he never goes in. Even when he was little and they shared an apartment barely bigger than a shoebox, Steve needed some privacy sometimes. Bucky has seen Steve at his lowest points. If he could, he’d talk through them with Steve himself. But he can’t, so he lets the doctors do their job, and loiters in the corridor outside for seven hours a week.

The history lessons are… tumultuous. It’s fascinating to learn how the world changed, how history was made. It’s jarring to realise that all that change happened without you. And it’s devastating to realise that everyone you know _is_ ‘history’ now.

A week and a half in, the teacher starts talking about civil rights. They learn about the Montgomery Bus Boycott, desegregation and Martin Luther King. Then when they’ve exhausted that topic, they move onto something called ‘LGBT rights’. Steve asks what it stands for, and the teacher gives him a long, meandering overview of the whole topic, ending with gay marriage.

_Legal._

Sure, not in every state, but legal is not a word either of them had ever expected to hear in _any_ state, not in this context.

It’s a punch in the gut. Steve is set reeling again, because all he can think is that he’s made it into a future where all he’s ever wanted is actually possible, but Bucky’s not here to share it with him, to make it happen. For Bucky, it’s bitter because they _are_ here together, but for all that gay marriage is legal, he’s pretty sure that it ain’t legal if you wanna marry a dead guy you can’t even see.

That night, Steve tries - and fails, again - to get drunk.

All Steve has left of Bucky are his dog tags.

He clutches at them so hard that he cuts his palm.

* * *

The next day, Bucky looks on worriedly as Steve splashes his face, rubs his already-healed palm and stoically makes his way back to class, expression carefully blank. He wonders what horrible surprise the future has in store for them now.

Steve has obviously decided to avoid all upsetting topics for now, and asks how the Dodgers are doing this season. Baseball is a safe topic, right?

Wrong.  

The teacher nonchalantly informs him that not only have the Dodgers left New York, but that they’ve ended up on completely the wrong coast. 

“Who am I going to support now?” Steve whines, arms crossed, sounding for all the world like he’s about three years old.

“Yankees?” the teacher offers, feebly.

Steve and Bucky laugh and laugh and laugh, only a little bit hysterical, while the suit looks on, baffled.

 _Yankees._ Bah.  

* * *

Less than a week later, Steve is really going for it in the gym after yet another nightmare wakes him up yelling. Bucky is becoming more and more worried about him. Steve is under a lot of pressure to adjust, but everyone seems to have forgotten that he's only been out of the ice a matter of weeks. During the day he attends all his classes dutifully, but every night he either returns to the numb wall-staring or the nightmares which seem to be getting more and more violent. Bucky could probably count the number of hours sleep Steve has had in the past few days on one hand.

Bucky knows that Steve's situation is completely unique, so there's no one who can _really_ understand. But reintegration isn't working; PT, History lessons and Psych just aren't going to cut it. Bucky wonders when someone will realise that and change things. These people aren't stupid, but they're missing out on something vital - they need to provide some social time or  _something,_  because underneath it all, Steve Rogers is just a normal, human man with a bright personality and a heart of gold. He's not adjusting because he's lost everything he's ever known, suffering a crushing combination of grief and loneliness. And that is what is leading to these unhealthy habits, barely sleeping and exercising more than he should, destroying punching bags on a nightly basis. 

"Trouble sleeping?” Bucky starts when Eye Patch Man suddenly speaks from behind him. By now, Bucky has learnt that actually, he is Director Nick Fury of SHIELD. But to call him that would imply respect, and so far Bucky is completely disinclined to give him any.  

“You here with a mission, sir?” says Steve, unwrapping his wrists.

 _No._ No, no, no, no, no, this is not good. This bound to happen eventually, but now? Three weeks post defrost? Steve is so far from being mission ready it’s laughable. But no one here seems to be all that worried about Steve Rogers, not when Captain sodding America has so much practical value.

“I am.”

 _Nooooooooo._ Can’t Steve have a goddamn break?

“Trying to get me back into the world?”

“Trying to save it.”

Manipulative bastard.

Like Steve would ever say no after that.

**Author's Note:**

> My first work in this fandom - I hope I've got the characters right, but you never can tell - and the longest story I think I've ever written, so hopefully there won't be any inconsistencies or anything like that. Please let me know if there are! 
> 
> I have a really good idea where this is going, but not all of it written and no set date for completion. I hate stories that are left incomplete for months on end, though, so rest assured an update is coming soon! If you like my story, please hang tight :)
> 
> Last but not least - criticism is bound to happen - no one can write to satisfy everyone - but if you do, please make sure anything you write is constructive. I won't put up with nastiness :)


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